machiavellian sweetheart
by CherryFlavoredChalk
Summary: Sora/Larxene. The boy's not right in the head.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own the song lyrics encased in the breakers. That would be owned by a magnificent band called "The Fratellis" and their beautiful, country-rawk song called "Flathead". Thanks, Dubious.Mischief.Maker, for making me that CD. Nor do I own Sora or Larxene, although I wish I did. Key word: WISH.

**Pairing: **Sora/Larxene. What would you call this? Sorxene? It sounds like a hair product.

* * *

**_Now just because she feeds me well_**

**_And she made me talk dirty in a pink hotel_**

**_Doesn't mean she's got eyes for me_**

**_She might just want my bones, you see._**

* * *

His angel wears black leather pants, a scarlet bikini top, and nothing else. She has small feet that she presses loudly to the wooden floor of their apartment, cheekbones so sharp you could cut yourself on them, and slender fingers that she uses to flick the side of his head when he says something too stupid, too nice, too naïve.

* * *

**_They don't come much more sick than you_**

**_I could go on if you want me to_**

**_It's just so wrong, so very nice_**

**_I told you once, and you killed me twice_**

* * *

"Hush little baby, don't say a word."

His sweetheart chugs alcohol like the men he hangs out with, spews obscenities like she's created them. She sleeps like a prostitute; legs spread open on the floor, mouth open. Her mouth is small and red, like a barely-blooming rose. This is mouth she uses to kiss him, to ruin him, to confuseamuseembarrass him. This is mouth he used to covet until he listened to the shiny, sharp words that fell like ashes from them.

But he found himself pressing his angel-sweet mouth to her tack-sharp lips anyways.

* * *

**_I saw you once at the back of the club_**

**_Chewing on glass and a ticket stub_**

* * *

"Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird."

His darling, quite frankly, acts like she doesn't give a damn about him. She pushes him off of their bed, pinches him when she feels irritated, throws anything and everything at him when he interrupts her work or exists too loudly. She hides his favorite CDs when he needs them the most, and delights in parting her perfect lips to whisper, "It's just a casual thing. We aren't really together, you know. Don't get stupid and think that this will last."

* * *

**_Everybody knows you're the one to call_**

**_When the girls get ugly_**

**_At the back of the wall_**

* * *

She revels in his destruction (frequent, as he breaks with a harsh word or glance. She loves to cut him down, build him, and slap him back down again.) She cuts him down and giggles as he bleeds.

* * *

**_Hey, flathead, don't check me in_**

**_Well, hers is a tonic_**

**_And mine is a gin_**

* * *

"And if that mockingbird don't sing."

His lover is electric; a pulsing, charging energy source trapped in the form of a too-pretty girl with slicked back hair and a collection of cowboy boots that took up (too much!) space in his closet.

In a girl who creates and destroys with delicate, manicured hands.

In a girl who thinks that she does quite well at her job; modeling for a life-drawing class for high school students. ("You got a nosebleed last class, and it didn't stop for the whole period? What was the model's name? Oh, her? Yeah, she's my girlfriend.")

In a girl who consumes too much alcohol for someone of her low tolerance, and usually ends up throwing it back up and being carried back home.

* * *

**_They don't come much more slick than you_**

**_I'd drive your car if you'd ask me to_**

* * *

"Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring."

His honey, his baby, his gal, his treasure, is a girl who smiles as she breaks him. A girl who takes his heart and digs her stilettos into it, grinning like a beautifully deranged mad woman as he shrieks and pleads. A girl who smears his worthless heart all over the lawn and devours it like birthday cake. A girl who bends him in half, waiting for him to snap in two.

"And if that diamond ring don't shine…oh!"

His angel never has a hair out of place, always has her clothes neat and pressed. She can be a sloppy as she wants, as long as she has the perfectly ironed clothes, projects, excuses. She can taste like acid if she looks like candy.

* * *

**_Hey, flathead, don't you get mean_**

**_She's the second best killer I have ever seen_**

* * *

"Good morning, sunshine."

She mutters, "Shut the fuck up!", and when they kiss, he can taste the profanity, resting like it's a part of her (and it is, isn't it? She is and is not acid.)

"I sang you a lullaby."

She stretches her arms above her head. She sleeps wildly, but she still hasn't got a hair out of place. "So that's what kept me up."

"But you were sleeping."

"Not really." She snorts, cuffing him lightly. "Like anyone could sleep through your warbling, Sora."

She sits up, gets her daily dose of cancer, and kisses him. It's sharp. Kissing Larxene is so much like receiving a paper cut. He squeals, nearly launching himself off the bed ("You bit me!"). He swears under his breath and she cackles, blowing smoke into his face.

Sora suggests, "Maybe you should quit smoking."

Larxene suggests that Sora does something that he's fairly sure is anatomically possible, and then demands breakfast. He gets a kiss for his troubles, and watches her cherry-red lips widen to hiss smoke into his cherubic face.

It tastes like candy, oddly enough.

* * *

**_And she said, "The boy's not right in the head."_**

**_And you stood and said, "Oh my god", till she said..._**

* * *


End file.
